


But My Heart's Right Here

by Children_of_the_Shadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, RLSB - Freeform, Remus/Sirius - Freeform, WW1, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Children_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Children_of_the_Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius wonders if they can somehow leave together. If they can just throw away their guns and leave. A part of him fantasises about it, bringing up illusions of a home together in the country side, a library full of mathematics books, a garden where life blooms in the dirt, and a shared bed with soft sheets that smell of earth, love, and Remus. Muggle AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But My Heart's Right Here

**Disclaimers:**  The title is from the song"It's a Long Way to Tipperary" which was popularised during WW1.

**A/N: So this was actually supposed to be posted yesterday as an ode to WW1, but as usual, my timing is off. I apologise beforehand if I've gotten any details wrong or if I have offended anyone. I tried to keep it as realistic and raw as possible, and did do a good bit of research, so I do not mean any disrespect whatsoever. Please feel free to express any opinions you might have or leave a kind word or two.**

* * *

In the afternoon, Sirius Black gets word that another division is joining their ranks to join the upcoming battle for the Western Front. He feels a sense of pride as well as confidence in winning this battle, if not also the war. James Potter, his best friend since childhood, laughs at his optimism and lights him up another bartered cigarette, saying that he is a green boy still. He tells Sirius that once they are in the trenches, this nationalist pride he has will dwindle down to nothing but orders and survival.

It is ironic because it is James who played a major role in Sirius's decision to join the army. Aristocratic families such as the Blacks are well above conscription and much of the men in Sirius's families have taken the coward's way out and faked illnesses to avoid joining the force. Those who have joined, have taken up ranks that do not require them to do something as basic as laying in the trenches and actually handling a gun. They are comfortable in their tents with their tea and biscuits, as they pretend to strategise through this war and cement their superiority over the commons by relaying senseless orders. Sirius, too, was offered such a position, much thanks to Father's contacts, but had declined much to Mother's chagrin. She had raged and screamed about his insolence and his utter lack of responsibility in deciding to get himself killed and failing to carry on the Black heritage. Later, she had conceded when he had not changed his mind, informing him that she was fortunate that his younger brother, Regulus, was far too young be as foolish him.

Sirius isn't personally there to greet the new infantry soldiers or have them inaugurated to the terrain because he feels it is too much effort to be sociable. Brotherhood is something that develops in the field regardless, as men spend every waking day of their lives together fighting for the same cause. Love for their nation brings them together in camaraderie and he tells James this as well, and is again only laughed at. This time his hair gets ruffled, making him smack his friend in a disgruntled but playful manner. He feels James is not one to judge as he works primarily in the nursing station and is not directly involved in the crux of the battle itself. Granted, however, James has much more experience with this war than Sirius, who is fresh out of training and is yet to fight a real battle. It can be seen in the lines around James's eye and the haggard expression on his face. Gone is the childish twinkle in his hazel eyes and the roundness of his cheeks, replaced by the strength of a man who has seen his comrades die, sometimes helplessly as his tools and time fell insufficient to save them. James has learnt to control the shaking of his hands that is a reminiscent from medical school as a result, because in the field, every bit of precision salvaged was key to saving a life.

After they share a drink from a tin canister that James always keeps in the inner sanctums of his uniform, Sirius heads back to his tent. James tells him to enjoy the luxury of a comfortable sleep while he still has it and for once, Sirius takes his advice to heart. A few months ago, his lip would have turned at the very idea of sleeping in a tent with another person being coined as luxury, but he knows his place here. He is no different from the scores of men here who have come to fight for their country and he does not wish to be any different either.

His good mood from a day well spent promptly drops when Sirius finds his new roommate sniffling on his makeshift bed, his back turned. He cannot see the bloke's face because of the angle and the copious amount of dirty blonde hair that falls everywhere, but it is with a certain amount of disdain that he notices a pale hand come to wipe up teary eyes and a leaky nose. His first reaction is to see this recruit as a coward and as someone who is somehow less of a man. He knows it is biased and perhaps a remnant of his Black upbringing where emotions are considered a weakness, but he cannot help the curling of his lip in disgust nor the noise of disapproval that passes his lips. It is this noise that distracts the man momentarily and Sirius catches a flash of startling amber eyes before they get hidden away behind blonde locks again. After this, the soldier is much quieter with his crying, making it easier for Sirius to hear a crumpling of paper as he sits down on his side of the tent.

'Letter from your family?' he asks sympathetically, feeling guilty for looking down on the man. His family has maintained no correspondence with him, but the Potters always pair a letter to him with James's. They treat him as their own son and in return, Sirius loves them like they are his God. 'It must be difficult to be away from them.'

'It is an old letter from my mother, nearly half a year old,' the man replies, not turning. His voice has a low baritone, gentle and measured. 'It takes too long for any post to reach us and,' he hesitates, 'it's worrying.'

Sirius thinks there is less to worry about the people at home than on the battlefield, but does not express it. 'I'm Sirius Black,' he says instead, not bothering to extend a handshake since the man was yet to turn to face him. 'I understand that you are frightened right now, but I assure you that the camaraderie here and fighting for a rightful cause will bring you strength.'

The soldier finally turns and this time it is him who looks at Sirius with thinly veiled disdain and disgust. His pale skin is slowly growing flush and his amber eyes are bright with anger, as he speaks, 'I'm Remus Lupin and the only thing that frightens me about this war is the futility of it so please don't patronise me.'

He turns away again, setting up a great divide of worlds between them.

No more is said, but Sirius cannot help but feel a growing hatred from this man.

* * *

Sirius's hatred for Remus Lupin intensifies when he realises that the man has singled him out as the object of his hatred. He is an absolute charmer with the rest of the infantry and Sirius sees first hand proof of this when he wakes up the next morning to see Lupin playing aim with a slingshot that some of the soldiers had crafted with leftover materials. He knocks down an empty can of beans with practiced ease and Sirius can tell that the man's aim is not something that has come from just a few weeks of training under the army. Lupin knows how to shoot, not unlike Sirius whose family has a long tradition of both hunting as well as archery as sport.

When the fifth and last of the cans is knocked down, the rest of the soldiers watching erupt in cheers and pat him jovially on the back, while Gideon Prewett offers him a choice of winnings – a pack of cigarettes or a distasteful magazine featuring women wearing little to nothing. Lupin does not even glance at the magazine, pocketing the cigarettes with a satisfied smile. The games start again and Sirius considers joining, if only to show off and take the upper hand while Lupin is watching. It feels suddenly very important to prove himself to this man, as if it is crucial to his survival that Lupin knew that Sirius had the skills and talent necessary to truly contribute to this war. He is just about to volunteer himself when James's boisterous greeting interrupts his inner self-righteous monologue.

'Remus Lupin, you old dog!'

Again, Sirius watches disbelievingly as Lupin hugs James like a brother long lost, his face nearly splitting from his wide smile. He is handsome this way, Sirius realises with growing anger. His porcelain skin is flushes attractively from happiness and his sandy blonde hair glitters in the morning sun, turning shades of light brown, red and gold in rhythm with the sun. There is a burst of energy in his lanky arms and legs as James holds him back to look at him and then pulls him into another embrace. By the time they pull away again, Sirius has chosen to stand next to James and shoot Lupin the most disdainful expression he can manage.

'Sirius, this is Remus Lupin, the Werewolf.'

Lupin rolls his eyes, playfully shoving James in the shoulder. 'Please don't call me that, James, you know I hate it.'

James grins and ruffles already tousled sandy hair. 'It's fitting though because Remus here always gets his prey. Dead shot, he is,' he praises sincerely which only serves to alleviate Sirius's aggravation. Sirius has a policy where he always treats James's friends as his own out of loyalty to his mate, but even being civil with Lupin currently feels like a challenge for him. 'If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be alive today. He's saved my life more than once when we were placed in the same division before I joined the medical corps.' He used his other hand to push his glasses up his nose. 'Remus, this is Sirius, my best friend from school.'

Lupin's eyes survey him critically. 'We've met.'

Sirius is visibly frazzled and feels the need to square his shoulders to make himself look taller than the other man. He contents himself with the fact that while he is a head shorter than Lupin, he is certainly much bigger. The man is lanky as he was tall, bordering on weedy if not for the pronounced muscles on his arms and neck. 'Can't say it was a pleasure,' Sirius retaliates and only James laughs, thinking it is a joke. Something sparks between them when grey eyes meet amber, and Sirius suddenly feels this urge to  _do something_. He doesn't know if he wants to strangle Lupin or simply shake him, but it feels almost crucial that he grab him by the shoulders. Sirius only  _just_ resists.

'Well, this is Sirius's first battle, so be gentle on him,' James continues, unaware of the animosity between them. 'He's yet to even see the trenches, so I garner he will be in a bit of a shock once we're there.'

Something in those amber eyes soften and suddenly, that spark of electricity mellows to a gentle wave. It is sympathy and pity that stare back at him now, and it is so much worse than the look of disdain that it replaces. Lupin sees him now as some ignorant child who does not understand the brutalities of war and needs his hand to be held. He sees Sirius as weak and Sirius hates it, because it intensifies his need to prove himself to Remus Lupin who should not mean anything but somehow means everything.

* * *

Sirius does not comprehend anything beyond the sound.

The sound of gun shots and cannons firing in what feels like intervals of mere seconds.

He anticipates many things about the trenches – the blood, the screaming, even death, but it is the noise that gets to him. His heart is constantly pumping at a rapid pace, adrenaline surging through his tired and exhausted body. He feels blood rushing through his head, his ears, making his fingers and his knees wobble and shake and sweat inside his uniform. He can neither hear the sound of his own voice over the constant bombardment, nor the sound of their field commander. Sometimes he feels he isn't even breathing because he cannot even hear himself breathe nor feel the air rushing into his lungs, because the ground is shaking, shaking, shaking.

His mind feels constantly terrified - a psychological and primitive reaction, he tells himself, as he convinces his hand to fire upon each whistle blow.

Sleep does not come to him easily. The hole he digs in the wall of the trench is deep because he tries to create a cocoon where the sound cannot reach him, but the ear splitting boom of cannons and gun fire is not something that can be masked so easily. So he digs deeper and deeper, barricading the entrance of his  _sleeping quarters_ with his coat despite the chill that is now settling in. He protects this little hole of his fiercely, keeping it small so that no more than a person and a half can fit inside. It is the only personal space he is granted amongst the flurry of sweaty bodies squashed into this narrow trench, their shoulders, elbows, and feet knocking into each other as they try to maintain their form and position.

Even amongst all of this, Sirius finds his dislike of Remus Lupin grow. Neither of them have time for animosity nor do they even have time to look at each other beyond casual glances. During meal times, they sometimes sit together with the same group of soldiers because they are positioned in the same wave. They do not speak much to each other, but Sirius craves normalcy so much that he laughs and jokes with the other men when they are referring to Lupin. He clings on stories of their home because his own isn't something he wants to talk about and notices that Lupin is the same. Both of them say nothing of their families.

However, Lupin's silence is not born from hatred like Sirius's. In fact, Sirius has seen Remus write into a tattered diary countless letters to his mother. Every single day he writes and every single day, Sirius watches with jealousy as the letters,  _Dear Mamie_ form in delicate cursive handwriting. In the beginning of each day, before taking his position in the trenches, Lupin takes out a small silver pendant hidden under the collar of his uniform and kisses it for luck. It is the shape of a single star. Sirius has no such charm to keep him safe, no letters to write, nobody to care if he outlived this war. He has little to live for, yet he wants to live so very badly. He wants to kiss that delicate crescent moon hanging from Lupin's neck and will the heavens to let him live another day.

And to make this incessant noise stop.

He only notices something off a month later, when he and Lupin are shoulder to shoulder, their guns firing at a rapid pace as the opposing army charges towards them, bayonets poised for battle. Sirius has lost count of how many rounds he has fired but he knows that the Germans have sent their second wave of soldiers and might retreat on the third, as none of them have managed to step into British territory as of yet. He only notices Lupin's rounds when one of the soldiers shot down begins to move, crawling to a stand before Sirius brings him down easily with a bullet to the chest. He does not have time to glare at Lupin for his blunder, but keeps an eye on his shots from there forth. He finds that it is the same every single time; Lupin purposefully aims at shoulders, legs, and arms – enough to disarm and cause many to fall, but not enough to kill. It can be a mistake the first few times, but forms a consistent pattern, and as someone who has seen Lupin shoot, he knows that it is being done on purpose.

Lupin is aiding the enemy.

So Sirius does what he can at that very moment and follows each round Lupin fires with a lethal one of his own. The other man catches on Sirius's tactic quick enough and amber eyes turn to him when he does, flames of gold and red licking the edges of his irises.

Sirius feels that spark between them again and it is not only in their shared gazes this time, but in every brush of their shoulders as they fire and every synced breath that they exhale from the effort. It brings a certain madness within him and he fights with a vigour and life that he seldom feels these days.

'What do you think you're trying to pull?' Sirius confronts Lupin when they are finally allowed to rest. His fists clench around the other man's uniform and he can feel the wetness in the collar of his shirt as a result of collected sweat. There is grit underneath his fingernails and it smears on the skin of Lupin's neck, yet does not taint the silver necklace that is clearly visible from this distance. 'Did you think no one would notice, you dirty little traitor?' His voice drops to a whisper when he notices a few of the men watching him. Tempers flying is nothing new in the trenches where a lack of space and the constant noise (always so much noise) often make men agitated and high strung. As long as they are not harming each other, their infantry commander, Moody, often turns a blind eye to petty fights. 'I have a right mind to report you to Moody.'

This time it is Sirius's collar in Lupin's fist and the thin man displays a surprising amount of strength, as he almost raises Sirius off the ground. 'You will do no such thing,' he growls and the animalistic nature of his threat shoots a certain thrill down Sirius's spine that makes him want to agitate and goad him even more. 'If I was a traitor, I would not be sitting here in the dregs of warfare and risking my life. Use your head for once, Black; it is a miracle you are still breathing.'

Sirius clenched his teeth. 'No thanks to you, you bastard. If this war was up to you, we would have been captured or killed by now.' He wrapped his hands around Lupin's fingers prying them off forcefully, his nails digging so hard they were drawing blood. 'If you can't handle the battlefield, Lupin, just tuck your tail between your legs and  _go home to Mamma.'_ For a second, Sirius thinks Lupin is going to hit him. He is almost confident he is and winds his entire body tight in preparation to retaliate, with his fists clenched at his sides and his stance wide and bent at the knees.

Yet, when Lupin speaks next, it is with a sigh of resignation. 'I don't want to kill,' he admits softly, his amber eyes glancing around them as if afraid that someone will hear.

'It's not your decision to make,' Sirius replies, his throat feeling tight as empathy rises within him. Lupin has voiced the one thing he has wanted to avoid thinking about since he was first conscripted.

'Doesn't it bother you - the growing piles of bodies between us?' Lupin bites his lip. 'I saw Gideon Prewett lying there today and I kept thinking how difficult it must be for Fabian to see the body of his dead brother being trampled and tread on every single day. Gideon deserves a chance to go home or burial at least, don't you think?' He leans back against the trench wall, his hands twisting in front of him. 'I don't want to be the cause of anguish for another person, no matter what side we're on. If that makes me a traitor in your eyes then so be it.'

Sirius wants to be angry. He wants to be furious at the self-righteous attitude that Lupin takes and the way he thinks it makes the situation better just because he chooses not to kill. He wants to rage and scream at him because Lupin cannot decide who he can kill and who he cannot, nor does he have the right to act on the feelings that every single man here harbours but suppresses. Yet, for once, Sirius is not angry at the sandy haired man, and for once, Sirius feels he is not alone. So he unclenches his hands and wraps one around Lupin's wrist, 'It is killed or be killed out here, Remus,' he says gently, hoping Lupin will understand what he is trying to say without him having to say it, 'and I don't want to die.'

Sirius wants to say that something between them changes but the truth is, something in him has changed and he doesn't realise it until this very moment. In the trenches here, where all his thoughts get drowned by the constant sound of gun fire, the nationalist pride he had held so dearly on to transforms to nothing but the very basic instinct to fight and live on. He tries to convince himself that it is no different for Britain, because if his country doesn't fight back then they will cease to exist. He tries to tell himself that everything that happens is justified, that these lives sacrificed are for the protection of their country, and that he is ready to be a hero for the greater cause. But there is no heroism is lying dead in no man's land, forgotten.

Lupin's wrist twists under his grip, not away but towards his hand so that their fingers are entwining together until they are holding hands in a way that feels more intimate than it truly is. He looks as if he wants to say something to Sirius as reassurance, but settles for a resigned smile. He doesn't let go of Sirius's hand until they are told they need to take up arms again, and within that time, Sirius starts to hate him just a little bit less.

* * *

Later, they call it the Christmas Miracle.

But when it happens, at first, Sirius thinks it is anything but.

It starts when the air is enveloped by silence and the ground underneath their feet stills. For moments, Sirius thinks he must be dead – the quiet rings louder in his ears than the cannons ever did. His body sways on its own, unused to the sudden change in balance, and he looks around him in a disoriented fashion to see similar disbelieving and wary faces staring back at him. He feels deaf and he finds himself swallowing again and again, trying to amend the situation. Without realising, his hand drifts to Remus's beside his and he clutches it tightly in both anticipation and fear. Remus squeezes back.

This is not a new development; somehow, within the last two months, Sirius has found himself drifting closer and closer to Remus. He no longer has to pretend to laugh at his jokes or exchange pleasantries, because fighting side by side has built a certain camaraderie that has dissolved all animosity between them. Sirius does not understand Remus still, no more than Remus understands him, but somehow, their opposing personalities co-exist. In the absence of James, Sirius would even venture to say that Remus has become something of a mate here in the field. Sirius often finds himself laying an arm around Remus's shoulders when they are having lunch with the others or holding Remus's hand tightly in his when they lose yet another brother in arms. There is no place for tears in the trenches, so touch is the only way they can mourn. The only touch Sirius does not allow himself when it comes to Remus is the urge to run his fingers across the man's collar bone where the silver star of hope lies, never dull of shine.

'They're singing,' Remus whispers, amber eyes wide as he turns to Sirius first and then the others. 'Do you hear it?' At first, it is so faint that Sirius can barely make out the words, but when the singing gets louder and more soulful, it is Remus who catches on before everyone else and joins them, ' _Silent night, holy night.'_ His voice is soft at first, hesitant and a little hoarse from disuse. But it starts to gain confidence when some of the other men also start to sing with him, slow smiles spreading across their faces. ' _All is calm, all is bright.'_

'They're lighting candles!' Someone shouts from afar and Sirius leans up to see that it's true. The opposing trenches that had been shrouded in darkness thus far is suddenly coming alight at the border as candles are lit and hoisted on top of what looks like the enemy's bayonets. They are nothing but tiny pin pricks of light being hoisted one by one, but as they flicker in the December chill, they look nothing short of beautiful and festive.

Sirius feels another squeeze of Remus's hand as they watch this magnificent sight, but before he can reciprocate, thin fingers slide away from his and grip the walls of the trenches. To Sirius's utter horror, Remus begins to climb out of the trenches by himself. 'No!' he screams, trying to pull the man back just as he hears Moody's booming voice order him to do the same. 'Remus, no!' Sirius cries again, as he grapples at the sandy blonde's clothes for purchase and fails. He doesn't think about his next actions; only thinks about  _Remus, Remus, Remus,_ so he follows.

Once he's out of the trenches, he finds Remus still singing, his gun discarded to the ground and his hands up in surrender. 'Remus, we need to go back!' he urges, fear gripping his heart more and more as he realises that no gun shot has followed their actions yet. They're alive, but he doesn't understand why. Remus, if anything, is smiling even more and singing louder so that his voice carries through the no man's land between them. 'Remus, please, we need to leave.'

And then something extraordinary happens.

Two soldiers from the German army mimic Remus, their hands raised and their weapons discarded. There are singing too and Remus takes this as initiative to start walking closer, attempting to bridge the gap between them. He takes Sirius's hand in his once again, his eyes trained forwards where the two German soldiers are walking towards them also. And just that firm grip on his hand is enough for Sirius to throw caution to the wind; he has always been told he was reckless anyway. It is his recklessness that has gotten him in the war in the first place so perhaps it will get him out of it as well, even if it is just for a night. He leaves his gun behind and raises his other arm up in surrender, the rhythm of his feet matching Remus's as does his voice when they sing together in harmony. He can feel the others behind him, watching them in awe and anticipation. He trusts Remus so implicitly that when the other man smiles and shakes hand with the German soldiers, Sirius does the same.

Even years later, Sirius is unable to tell how such a simple action brought together both German and British forces into neutral ground to celebrate Christmas Eve. He cannot tell you how they grew to exchange gifts, like small pieces of chocolate, or drink together from the same bottle as though they were brothers. He does not know why the Germans had helped them bury their dead, just as the British had them with theirs, nor why they had all prayed for each man with an equal amount of respect. He can recall however, the sounds of laughter and chatter and song, mostly the song, because music felt like such a relief to Sirius's ears after months and months of just  _noise._

But the thing he most starkly remembers is Remus in the light of the fire and the feelings of jealousy that bubbles deep in his gut as he watches sandy blonde hair tumble into amber eyes and full lips form soft whispers into a German officer's ears. It makes him regret wanting to sit beside James, because his grey eyes can focus on nothing else but the way Remus laughs, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and happiness, bumping shoulders with this unknown man again and again. Everyone is too busy with their own festivities to notice the way their hands brush occasionally or the way they are sat so close that their sides are touching, but Sirius sees. He sees everything and it feels so very, very  _wrong._  So when he notices them getting up together and starting to walk far away from the group, he excuses himself and follows. He doesn't know what he expects, which is why he is almost shocked to stillness when he hears Remus speak in fluent German, not a shred of his Welsh accent peeking through.

The word  _traitor_ niggles in the back of his mind yet again.

Sirius barely has a chance to process this information, before he is accosted with the sight of Remus being pushed back against a rock and then kissed on the lips fiercely. He feels his mouth drop open as Remus responds in kind, groaning softly and wrapping his arms around the German's shoulders to pull him closer.

Something in Sirius snaps the moment he sees their tongues touching and he pulls out the pocket knife he always keeps on him, flicking the sharp blade with ease and pressing it against the German's throat. His other hand wraps across the soldier's chest and pulls him backwards, neck exposed and  _away_ from Remus. 'I'll fucking kill you, you bastard!' His arm tightens when he feels the body against him struggle, pushing the blade deep enough to just break skin.

'Sirius, no!' Remus cries angrily, his chest still heaving from the kiss. 'You let him go this very minute!'

Their eyes meet, grey upon amber, and the air between them crackles just like it did the first time they met.

Sirius curses, pushing the German soldier away before grabbing Remus's face roughly and pulling him into a kiss. Their tongues meet even before their lips and their teeth clash almost painfully, but neither of them pull away. Sirius feels thin fingered hand bury into his raven locks, pulling him closer, so that their chests bump against each other and their knees knock together. His own hands are pushing under a rumpled shirt, kneading Remus's bare sides and dragging sharp nails across sensitive nipples to pull out gasps and moans from a needy mouth. As Remus pulls away for air, Sirius attacks his neck, biting hard enough to bruise and then laving it soothingly with his tongue. It is almost like a Godsend when Sirius's mouth touches the cool silver of the star in between Remus's collarbone, the vibrations from the other man's moans felt against each crevice on his lips.

'Sirius?' Remus pants when he raises his head to look at questioning eyes and furrowed blonde brows. There is an unasked question in the way he speaks Sirius's name, vulnerable where his tongue meets his teeth to pronounce the S's.

'Remus,' Sirius whispers back and this time when their eyes meet, the spark between them is different – much gentler, just like the touch of their lips and the caress of Sirius's fingertips as they trail downwards under Remus's trousers. When those fingers find purchase of smooth, hardened flesh, Remus throws his head back with a gasp, his neck exposed and the silver star glistening against his pale skin. Sirius makes sure to leave his mark there, his obsession with owning the other man faltering only when reciprocating hands fumbles with his belt and lets his trousers drop to the ground.

Sirius's legs push between Remus's, one arm wrapping around the man's waist in an attempt to be closer. Their cocks touch and as if in sync, their hand wrap together and start to move in a rhythm that feels older than it should. Every single nerve ending feels on fire under Remus's touch, his face pushing into the blonde's neck to muffle his moans as a curious hand trickles down the nape of his neck, roams the expanse of his back, and squeezes the u of his arse.

He feels Remus's muscles constrict against his the same time the coil in his gut tightens in anticipation of an orgasm. Their eyes close at the same time as they lean in to each other, hands speeding up and breaths becoming more and more laboured as they come close to tipping over the edge. They come together, their cries muffled by each other's lips, not kissing but just touching desperately, messily. Their shared come feels warm against their hands and stomachs, and Remus has the sense to wipe it away with a handkerchief before wrapping his arms around Sirius in an embrace that feels too intimate to be real.

They hold each other for as long as they can, not a word exchanged between them beyond the whisper of each other's name. The air feels fresh and cool against their skin and the moon gives off just enough light for Sirius to drown in Remus's amber eyes. He feels his eyes droop sleepily, a calm washing over him and bringing him a sense of bliss he feels he has never experienced in his life, let alone these four months in the trenches. And when Remus's lips press against his hair in a gentle kiss, he thinks that this moment between them is the true Christmas miracle and prays for it to never end.

* * *

The day after Christmas Day, the unspoken peace treaty is broken and that incessant noise starts again. It feels louder than before and it makes Sirius's head pound and his hands shake from sickness. He cannot fight anymore; cannot bring the will to hate and kill the people he shared drinks with only a night ago. He shakes so much that Moody removes him from formation and puts him on stretcher duty, where he must run to and fro between the trenches and the nursing station where James is trying so, so hard to save dwindling lives he brings. Sirius's hands do not stop shaking and he wishes for Remus, for their fingers to entwine and for that familiar pulse to steady his trembling nerves. He wishes for amber eyes and a tired smile; he wishes for the brush of their shoulders as they fight to survive another day; most of all, he wishes for just one more kiss.

In the flurry of battle, he does not notice Remus's absence until it is time to sit down for lunch with the men. 'Have you seen, Remus?' he asks repeatedly, as he walks the entire pathway of the trenches, looking for a familiar mop of sandy blonde hair. His heart is beating holes into his chest the entire time, his rational mind trying to calm him by assuring him that if the man was injured, Sirius would have been the first to know. There have also been no orders to cross the borders, so Remus must be alive and well. He  _must._  But by the time he circles back to his starting point, Sirius already feels a sting in the very corner of his eyes and his voice feels hoarse from asking if anyone has seen the other man.

And it is at that very point of desolation, he hears Remus's cry of pain. It is barely audible over the din of men shouting and gun fire, but every inch of Sirius is so attuned with Remus that even before his brain gives him the answer, his feet and heart are already there at the entrance of the cubby hole he has created for himself to sleep in. Remus is curled up inside, Sirius's winter coat clutched within his fingers tightly as he screams in what Sirius can assume as agonising pain. His muscles spasm, causing his entire body to jerk and shake as if invisible strings are pulling him in all opposing directions.

Sirius does not waste any time transporting Remus back to the nursing station, his brain shutting down all thought and his body functioning solely on adrenaline. He does not bother with the stretcher, finding Remus's thin body nearly weightless in his arms as he pushes through the crowd of men in his path. By the time he reaches the nursing station, Remus's sweat has soaked through Sirius's own clothes and his screams of pain ring louder than any firearm.

'I can't do anything for him,' James says, his eyes barely glancing over Remus as Sirius sets him down on one of the sheets that function as a bed.

'You haven't even looked at him!' Sirius protests, brushing away blonde hair with shaking hands. 'James!'

'Sirius!' James screams and there is a look of anger and frustration on his face.

He looks haggard and tired, smears of dried blood crusting in the premature lines of his face. His messy mop of hair is standing on end, unwashed and tangled, and his round glasses are encrusted with dust and grime across the rims. Despite more than nine nurses in this station, James looks like he is hardly keeping up, his feet tripping over the rows upon rows of bodies lined against each other. Even Sirius cannot tell which ones are alive and which ones are already dead.

'I know what's wrong with him,' James said softly, his hazel eyes not meeting Sirius's, as he worked swiftly on bandaging the wounds of a fallen soldier. 'There's nothing I can do for him. He just has to ride it out. I'm sorry.'

Sirius does not understand. He does not understand at all, but James does not give him any more answers. Not because Sirius does not badger him any further but because he simply does not have time to talk when man after man falls into his care. In a gruff voice, he simply asks Sirius to be patient and leave Remus as is, but the dark haired Black has never been very good with orders or patience. He ignores everything – Moody's orders, the war, the men – all of it except Remus. He is tired of fighting anyway; cannot bring himself to muster the same hatred he had been told to feel about the Germans in the beginning of this war. He lets the sandy blonde dig his nails into his arm and to bite on his hand as pain overwhelms him beyond reason. He does not leave his side, holding him and holding him and holding him, despite all the odd stares he gets. He holds Remus until exhaustion gets a stronger hold on him instead and he falls asleep on the cold, hard ground beside the man who has somehow become his world.

'You need to go home, Remus!'

Sirius's slumber is broken not by James's voice but by that  _noise_  again. He feels tired and as if he has not slept at all, but is intrigued to wakefulness by James's tone which sounds uncannily sharp and angry despite its low whispering quality.

'I can't keep doing this for you! Nearly every single month, I watch you claw yourself in pain! You need to go to a hospital and receive proper medical care from someone who knows what is fucking wrong with you!'

'I know what is wrong with me and I've told you, it's not life threatening! It's just a part of my brain that was damaged and-'

'I don't care because whatever it is makes you unfit to be in war!' James roars so loudly that Sirius jumps in surprise.

He keeps his eyes firmly closed, knowing that if he opens them now then he will never know what is wrong with Remus. He nearly jumps again when he feels a bony thigh press against his leg, indicating that Remus is sitting at the foot of the bed. A hand closes around his ankle, thumb brushing circles over the skin. No doubt James is nearby, judging by how easily Sirius can hear him despite both men whispering, yet Remus seems unashamed by the intimacy of his touch. Perhaps, like Sirius, war has made him care less of the consequences.

'Remus, I don't know how you faked you medical exams and fooled everyone into thinking you are fit for so long, I really don't. But I cannot be the reason you get shot one day, because you suddenly find yourself incapable of moving a fucking muscle.' James's words string together almost incoherently as he gets more and more frazzled, and Sirius can almost see his best friend returning to the old habit of running his hands through his hair in agitation. 'Today, you were able to hide but tomorrow, it might strike when you're mid shot or when you're running through the battlefield. What will you do then? And what will happen to people like Sirius who try to save you?'

Silence takes over them and Sirius would have fallen asleep again if not for the tightening of Remus's fingers over his ankle. 'I would protect him,' Remus's voice sounds hard and determined, 'with every ounce of my strength, I promise you, I would protect him.'

* * *

Sirius does not fight until the next year, keeping close to Remus despite resuming his duties with the wounded.

When he is placed yet again on the battlefield, it is with Remus by his side again, shoulder to shoulder. But it is a bad day to come back – word has reached them that many of the British allies are succeeding in reclaiming territory and this causes restlessness in areas such as there where little to nothing has been accomplished. Combat has been ordered and the wave Sirius and Remus have been assigned in will be bringing up the rear. Dread fills them all in varying degrees and Sirius looks around him to see eyes as haunted as his own as they realise there is every possibility of death. There is no dignity in the way they die – they simply fall like their comrades before them, forgotten to all but the land.

Each man has his ritual before death. Some pray fervently to God to keep him and his family safe, to make it painless; some huddle in groups trying to encourage each other through camaraderie and brotherhood; some write farewell letters to their loved ones or leave things behind, hanging from discarded bayonets nailed into the trench walls.

'My mother is German,' Remus whispers quietly much to Sirius's shock. 'That's why I'm here. My father is too old to join the army and if I refuse to join as well, people will see us as traitors. My sickness will only seem like an excuse to them.' His fingers tighten around the barrel of his gun. 'My home has been attacked twice already. The last letter I received from my mother was a goodbye because they were trying to flee to the city where they could lose themselves in scores of people.' Sirius remembers the man crying when they first met and feels guilty for thinking him a coward then. 'I cannot reach her because I don't know where they are or if even they are alive. I cannot go back because it will only make things worse. There is so much hatred now against the Germans, the papers and the radio keep telling you how cruel they are and the atrocities and carnage they leave behind. But what are they doing that is so different from us? And what has my mother ever done to anyone?'

There are tears in his eyes, but he manages to smile weakly when Sirius squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. There is much more that Sirius wishes to do – he wants to kiss away those tears, he wants to hug Remus and hold him tight against his chest, he wants to take him away somewhere they can be safe and happy. He knows Remus is telling him this now after all this time because he has no hopes of surviving, but Sirius silently promises himself that as long as there is breath in his lungs, Remus will live. This war he is fighting is no longer for Britain nor for himself and his selfish need to be different from his family. It is for Remus.

Their gazes hold for the longest time and Sirius never tires of that spark of electricity between them, now also shooting through his veins and into his heart. He cannot fathom how one man can be so beautiful in his eyes, despite all the dirt and grime that cover them, and that constant, constant  _noise_. He cannot understand why his chest swells and his palms sweat, and yet he feels at home more so that he has ever felt in his life as long as Remus is with him.

'I love you,' he says softly, unthinkingly, and Remus does not seem surprised by his admission.

He watches as the sandy blonde fumbles with the clasp of the silver chain hanging around his neck and then pulls it away. The star pendant glimmers in the sunlight momentarily, looking pure and untainted, and then it is placed against Sirius's own collarbone. Remus's fingers brush the nape of his neck as the clasp is done and the star sits lower than it does on Remus, just above the centre of his chest. It does not look nearly as beautiful on Sirius's tanned skin, but that does not keep him from picking it up with careful fingers and then bringing his lips to it for luck, just as he has seen Remus do it every single day.

'Why are you giving it to me?' Sirius asks, still holding the pendant protectively between his fingers.

Amber eyes turn molten gold and he holds Sirius's hand briefly one last time before they are called to arms. 'Because I already have my star.'

* * *

Unlike Sirius, Remus is not changed the slightest in the battlefield. His ideals are strong and as he fights, bayonets clashing against one and other, Sirius can hear him speaking in German. Even without understanding the words, Sirius knows what he is saying:  _live and let live._ Just like with his gun, Remus strikes to wound but not to kill. He speaks to each soldier he fights with and some of them speak back in tired and weary voices, their strikes lacking vigour. But there are few who are quick to anger at Remus's words and Sirius watches them like a hawk, even as he fights his own battles, his muscles tight and poised to step in if the other man is harmed in any way.

As fate would have it, it is Sirius who needs saving in the end. He is so distracted by his need to protect the other man that he does not notice his opponent until he's been knocked down to the ground. He is flat on his back and the German soldier above him is standing with his legs on either side of him, his blue eyes as dead as Sirius knows he will soon be. The soldier's uniform is torn in places where he's been hit, seeping blood into the fabric and Sirius feels a certain amount of respect for the man for continuing to fight for his country even after he's been wounded. His opponent's bayonet rises for one final blow and he resists the urge to close his eyes, not wanting to show fear or defeat.

Sirius barely catches the flash of amber and Remus's whispered apology, ' _Entschuldigung,_ ' before a British bayonet pierces right through the German soldier's chest and kills him even before the weapon is completely pulled out.

Remus does not have time to help him up and Sirius lays there, a dead man weighing him flat on the ground and soaking him in foreign blood for a long, long time, before remembering the promise he made to himself regarding Remus and finding the strength to fight again.

* * *

They win.

One battle in a war full of battles.

The trenches on the other sides are still fighting and Sirius knows this because he can still hear their gun fire and cannons, loud despite being from afar. Nothing ever drowns it, nothing ever stops it. There is never an escape from this God damn noise.

Their unit lost many but not all, and that is cause enough to celebrate. They drink to the fallen and to the victorious, smiling and laughing, and sharing stories not of the battlefield but of back home and their lovers and families. This victory gives them hope and all of them, including Sirius, hope to see their families once again. Some of them even joke about how much of a relief it will be to use a civilised toilet once again or take a proper bath, or just to eat food that does not taste like the rubber soles of their boots. Sirius, who has come from one of the richest families in Britain, also wishes to once more attend one of Mother's snooty parties and be forced to dance with a woman he finds to be an absolute bore. He remembers the faces James would make to amuse him at such times, while trying simultaneously to not stare at one of the servant girls that worked for the Black household, Lily Evans was her name. Sirius wonders if after the war, James will finally gather the courage to go against tradition and ask her to marry him.

Remus is the only one who does not talk of the past or home. In fact, he does not talk at all and retires early. Sirius catches his face just before he leaves and it looks drawn and haunted. Instinct tells him to follow, but he leaves the man be, if only for a little while. Privacy is a rare commodity in the trenches and Sirius want Remus to have every luxury he can afford to give. He already knows where the sandy blonde will be – in Sirius's little cubby hole. Sirius has been protective of his sleeping quarters from the very beginning, keeping it only large enough for one person and allowing no one to come close to it. There are many quarters like his that can house up to twenty men, but Sirius has been adamant about keeping his exclusive despite being ragged for being too much of a posh boy.

But like everything else, Remus is an exception, so much so that in the last few days when Remus was recovering in the nursing station, Sirius has widened his cubby hole to now fit two people.

'I brought you something to drink,' Sirius offers, when he finally crawls beside Remus late at night, hanging a long coat he has salvaged from one of the dead in front of the entrance to keep the draft away. 'You looked like you might need it.'

Remus immediately sidles up to him so that their sides are touching. A sob escapes his lips and Sirius automatically wraps his arms around the other man's thin shoulders, pulling him closer until Remus is partly on top of him – blonde head pillowed against his chest, arms around his waist, and long legs spilling between his own. This is the closest they have been since Christmas Eve and Sirius cannot believe how he has survived so long without Remus's warm weight so reliant against him. He presses little reassuring kisses to the man's hair, his forehead, his wet eyelashes, and the sides of his mouth, before cupping Remus's face in the palm of his hands and claiming those full lips as his own.

'I want to be a Professor in Mathematics,' Remus confesses quietly, his forehead resting against Sirius's. 'I received a scholarship from Oxford and I want to go. I want to learn about numbers and formulas and all the hidden codes that make this world beautiful.' His palms, flat against Sirius's chest rub up and down, before climbing to the sides of Sirius's neck and entangling fingers into dark hair. His lips kiss the silver pendant resting on Sirius's chest. 'I don't want to kill, Sirius. I don't want to fight this war of lands and resources. This is not my war. It has nothing to do with me.'

'Then leave,' Sirius suggests, toeing off his clunky boots so that their bare feet touch in a way that feels human and intimate. 'You heard James the other day, you're not fit for this war, Remus. You don't have to go back home; you told me yourself that you don't know where your family is. You can leave this war and go to Oxford, and become smarter than you already are.' He smiles, pushing Remus's hair behind his ears. 'You would be a brilliant professor, kind and wise and empathetic and so, so beautiful.' Sirius's fingers traced the lines under Remus's eyes, down the bridge of his nose, up the slope of his cheekbones, curving over his jawline and resting on the ball of his chin. 'So beautiful.'

They kiss again, slowly, hands roaming under shirts to desperately feel warm skin. Sirius presses back further so that he and Remus remain hidden from view, even when the coat at the entrance flutters in the breeze. Faintly, he can still hear the idle chatter of the men and he knows that no one is yet to sleep, too occupied with the festivities and illusion of normality. Sirius's illusion is Remus; he is the reason Sirius manages to feel human despite feeling his humanity slipping away from him day by day. His touch is the reason Sirius breathes and his amber eyes burn through his nerves in a way that makes him feel alive again. So Sirius holds on to him hard and kisses him harder.

'I can never leave you,' Remus pants, as Sirius attacks his neck and claims him, his teeth leaving shapes like the crescent moon on his skin. 'I won't ever leave you.'

Sirius wonders if they can somehow leave together. If they can just throw away their guns and leave, or if he can fake an injury and be discharged along with Remus. He wonders if he is cowardly for thinking ways to escape and if they will be shamed for their actions, or worse, executed. But a part of him also fantasises, bringing up illusions of a home together in the country side, a library full of mathematics books, a garden where life blooms in the dirt, and a shared bed with soft sheets that smell of earth, love, and Remus. He wants it.

He wants it more and more, as their bodies clumsily move together in the cramped space and their voices are muffled into exposed skin. He fervently prays for it as his fingers run over the pronounced bones of Remus's ribs, his dwindling waist line, the sharp jut of his hip bones and then lower. He plots and promises this future to himself at any cost, as they come together, moans lost against touching tongues.

'I love you,' Remus whispers, damp lips brushing against his ear. 'I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…'

And for the first time since he started this war, Sirius cannot hear gun fire. Remus's voice in his ear and his warm breath against Sirius's sweat soaked skin drowns out everything until it is all background and finally, finally, Sirius feels  _at peace._

'I love you.'

* * *

THE END

* * *

* * *


End file.
